


The Warmth of Christmas

by serenbach



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Fluff, Lewis Secret Santa 2013, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heavy snowfall just before Christmas hinders a murder enquiry, but leads to some other unexpected revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warmth of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComplicatedLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/gifts).



The sound of playing children just a little way down the road, gleeful about having an early start to their Christmas holidays due to the unexpectedly heavy snowfall, felt a million miles removed from the scene in front of them.

Lewis sighed; staring at the unfortunate victim sprawled out in a snowy garden in front of them. He’d been found by a young girl who had spotted the red of his scarf despite the snow and was understandably traumatised by what she had found. Lewis had sent a friendly uniformed officer to take her statement and tried to put the thoughts of two families who would never see Christmas in the same way again out of his head, and concentrate on the facts. 

“So, what do we have?” he asked Laura, who was looking thoroughly cold and miserable. She’d been there for a lot longer than him or Hathaway. 

“Male, early forties, killed by a blow to the back of the head,” she replied, “perhaps sixteen hours ago, although there has been another snowfall since then, which will make it harder to tell for sure.”

“The new snow has also ensured that there are no footprints for us find,” Hathaway sighed from behind him.  


Lewis glanced at him briefly. The cold had given his usually pale skin a bit of a pink flush, and he was wearing a deep purple scarf that made him – 

Lewis dismissed the thought with a scowl and asked, “Who owns the property?”

“They’ve been on holiday – left two days ago for Florida,” Hathaway informed him promptly. “The neighbours offered to feed the fish for them.”

“Lucky them,” Laura commented, trying to rub the warmth back into her fingers. 

“We’ll leave you to finish up here, then, and we’ll try figure out who he is. Will you let me know when you have anything concrete?”

Laura gave him a pointed look. “Only if you put the kettle on ready for when we get back!”

“Deal,” he agreed with a smile, and headed off with Hathaway in step beside him.

“Someone must have seen him,” Hathaway said. “Dr. Hobson’s estimate puts the time of death at around school-leaving time and there are a lot of families on this street.”

“If the estimate is right,” Lewis pointed out. “If the schools weren’t let out early because of the snow, and if most people hadn’t already closed the curtains because it was getting dark.”

“Perhaps you should look into a new career as a motivational speaker, sir?” Hathaway commented cheekily, not even trying to supress his smirk. 

Lewis shook his head, feeling a smile tug at his mouth. “Get away with you.” Hathaway’s laugh only made his smile grow wider. 

A few brief chats with the neighbours later, and Lewis’ brief burst of good cheer had faded. No one had recognised their victim, no one had seen him, and the snow seemed to have muffled the sounds of any struggle.

In short; no name, no motive, no leads. Nothing at all to go on. 

“Not the news that the rest of the team wants to hear.” Lewis grumbled as they headed back to his car. “A new murder investigation three days before Christmas.”

“I don’t mind working through if need be,” Hathaway offered. “I don’t really have any plans.” 

_You could come to mine,_ was Lewis’ first thought; hastily stifled, followed by _You shouldn’t be alone at Christmas._

He didn’t say either of those things, settling for, “Well, we’ll see how it goes, hey? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

\----

Lewis had become aware, gradually but inescapably, that his feelings toward Hathaway had changed. 

He’d gone from just being his too-smart, God-bothering sergeant, to becoming his best mate, to Lewis becoming… fond of him. Seeing Hathaway every morning, bantering with him and watching him think, and going out with him for a pint or a take-away after work had become the bright points of his day.

He found himself thinking about Hathaway at odd times, smiling whenever he saw a misused apostrophe and worrying about him whenever he slipped into one of his bouts of existential flu. 

He hadn’t realised just _how_ fond he’d become of him until he’d turned to Hathaway one evening to make a joke at the expense of the terrible film they’d been watching, only to find that Hathaway had dozed off on the sofa beside him.

Looking at him; tie loosened, hair rumpled, lips parted and his hands lax and trusting in his lap, Lewis had felt something shift inside him, a jolting shock that didn’t hurt. Hathaway had helped to shore up the empty, lonely spaces inside him until they were suddenly not empty at all, but entirely full of him. 

He’d watched him sleep for an embarrassingly long time after that. He didn’t even remember the name of the film they’d been watching.

Lewis wanted, well, he wanted a lot of things, some of them he was not entirely sure how to name. But wanting wasn’t getting, he knew that very well. If Hathaway knew half of what was on his mind sometimes he would be well within his rights to ask for a transfer, and that was the last thing Lewis wanted. Hathaway was his friend and sergeant before anything else; he wouldn’t risk that for all the world. 

He was far too old to pine, and probably too old for a sexual identity... re-evaluation (he didn’t particularly see it as a crisis). But sometimes, like when he heard that Hathaway was prepared to spend Christmas alone when Lewis would be glad to spend it with him, he had to bite down on the impulse to speak his mind. 

\----

The first day had passed with no new leads, and a lot of frustration. Laura had identified the murder weapon as everyone’s favourite, the blunt instrument, but there was no real chance of finding it until after the snow melted. 

The man had no ID on him, had no criminal record that they could trace from his fingerprints, was not on any lists of missing persons and was a bit too well-dressed (and as Hathaway had pointed out, also had recently manicured nails) to be homeless. 

By the end of the day, they’d got no further and everyone was tired and irritable. The only bright point of Lewis’ day was Hathaway’s fervent acceptance of his invitation for a pint after work. 

The next day, though, things managed to progress quite rapidly. 

Someone had reported an abandoned car, and Hathaway (who, judging by the three-quarters empty mug of coffee on his desk had already been hard at work for some time) had traced the owner – their victim.

Armed with a name, it was not difficult to trace the fact that he had a cousin living in the road in which he had died, one who they had already spoken to previous day and who had somehow managed to forget to mention the relationship to them.

Hathaway sent him a pointed look. “I bet you a box of mince pies that we’ve found our man.”

Lewis chuckled, grabbing his coat. “I think your mince pies are safe, lad.”

When they arrived, their suspect took one look at them and scarpered, leaping over the back fence of his garden. Hathaway took off after him, leaving Lewis to direct the search in the house and garage for the weapon.

By the time Hathaway turned up with the suspect in handcuffs, he was holding an evidence bag with a hammer in it. Lewis couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he realised that Hathaway had left his coat in the car, and the both of them were thoroughly drenched from slush and snow (though to be fair he hadn’t had time to put it on before having to run). His suit was certainly no protection from the cold and he was looking a little bedraggled. 

“Come on,” he said to Hathaway once their killer had been put into a car and taken off to the station. He was shivering heavily by this point, and Lewis ushered him into the car and turned the heater up. “My place is closer,” Lewis said. “We’ll leave him in the cells for now and warm you up a bit. How does a pint and a curry sound?”

“Heavenly,” Hathaway managed through chattering teeth, before plucking discontentedly at his soaked trousers and adding, “Such a mess.”

Lewis wasn’t sure if he was talking about his clothing or the situation, but he agreed on both accounts. Sometimes all they could do was try and pick up the pieces, something he knew Hathaway tended to dwell on if left alone after a case.

And even if Lewis couldn’t be everything he wanted towards Hathaway, giving him somewhere to dry off and wind down after a difficult case was more than enough.

\----

By the time they arrived back at his flat, Hathaway was shivering so violently Lewis was starting to worry. The journey hadn’t really been long enough for the heater in the car to fully dry him off. 

“That’s what you get for not wearing your coat in December,” Lewis chided lightly, trying to conceal his concern. “Let’s get you warmed up and in some dry things, lad.”

He flicked the heating and kettle on before heading into the kitchen and picking up a large bath towel, worn soft through years of washing. 

“Here,” Lewis said, tossing the towel at him. “Dry yourself off and I’ll dig out something for you to change into.”

His clothes would be too big and too short for Hathaway of course, but it would be better than standing around in damp clothing. He dug out some old tracksuit trousers and a jumper, hoping that they would do.

He left the clothes on the sofa for Hathaway to change into while he went into the kitchen to make them both a hot drink. When he came back though, Hathaway was struggling with his shirt, fingers trembling too hard to manage the little buttons.

“Here,” Lewis said, exasperated and worried. “Let me.” He unfastened the top couple of buttons, shaking his head. “Honestly, that big brain of yours and you risk catching hypothermia like that? Perhaps you should hop into the shower –”

Lewis looked up then, in time to catch Hathaway watching wide-eyed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, as Lewis unbuttoned his shirt. Until that moment, Lewis honestly hadn’t thought of how his actions could be interpreted. He’d just wanted to stop Hathaway’s teeth from chattering so hard that he was risking cracking them.

But, an inspector stripping his sergeant’s shirt off in his front room? A case for inappropriate behaviour could certainly be argued from that. Except that Hathaway hadn’t looked offended or disturbed by Lewis unfastening his shirt. The look on his face had been one of supressed longing. Lewis was more familiar with that expression than most people. 

Lewis still had his hands on Hathaway’s shirt, and this time, when he opened a button he let the very tips of his fingers brush against the soft, cool skin of Hathaway’s chest. He shivered again, but Lewis thought with something between hope and alarm that it was not entirely with cold that time. 

He’d spent all this time thinking that Hathaway, whatever his romantic preferences, could never be interested in _him_. But, by the way Hathaway was looking at him now, the same affectionate way that he so often looked at him he realised that he had been utterly wrong.

“Hathaway,” Lewis said, his voice serious, but not able to fight his growing smile. “James. Is this alright?”

And James looked back at him like he was gazing at something precious. “ _Please._ Anything that you want, just don’t stop.”

Lewis took a deep breath and unfastened the next button, baring more skin, with a firmer, more deliberate touch. A gasp caught in Hathaway’s throat, and his hands tightened on the towel he was still holding. “Sir,” he whispered, his voice soft. “I…”

“Yeah, I know” Lewis replied, smiling. “And you may as well stop calling me ‘sir’.” He reached the last button of Hathaway’s shirt and ran his hands across his sides, then up his spine, between his shoulder blades. His skin was softer than Lewis would have ever thought, and warming rapidly under his hands. 

He tugged the shirt off and threw it to the floor, heedless of the wet stain that it would no doubt leave. James stood before him then, like Lewis never let himself imagine, pale and touchable and hungry-eyed and… still, admittedly, a little damp.

“Let’s get you out of the rest of your wet things, shall we?” Lewis said, and James _smirked_ in reply, though the expression faded into one that was almost sweetly shocked as Lewis’ hands went for his flies, brushing against the hardness there. He batted away James’ attempts to help and slowly unzipped them, pushing his trousers and his underwear down in one go, their removal hindered only by the removal of shoes and socks. 

James was bare before him now, but Lewis didn’t have a chance to fully appreciate it, to take in his body that was strange and familiar all at once before James lowered his head and kissed him. 

Lewis had tried not to imagine what it would be like kissing James (though that was sometimes difficult when he’d been watching him purse his lips to take a drag of his cigarette, or biting the end of his pen in thought, or, more rarely, watching him nibble at his nails when he didn’t think he was being observed) but he did occasionally catch himself wondering if his lips were soft or firm, or whether he would find the hint of stubble at the end of the day off-putting.

And while the differences were a little strange at first, the way James kissed him, like he was everything he had ever wanted, like he was committing him to memory, soon won out over the strangeness, and Lewis was kissing him back with equal passion and enthusiasm. James’ hands slid under his shirt and vest, plucking ineffectually at them while Lewis kept him distracted. 

When they pulled away, James was fully hard, and Lewis was starting to regret not taking his own clothes off before they had started kissing. He wanted to touch James all over, learn his body and how to bring him pleasure.

He had to clear his throat before he started speaking. “Are you still cold?”

He hadn’t thought that James could look coy, but he found he quite liked it. “Very,” he drawled, his own voice deeper than usual. 

Lewis steered him towards the bedroom, and gently pushed him towards the bed, before covering him with his own body. “You won’t be for much longer, lad, that I promise.”

\----  
Later, while James was still dozing, Lewis called the station to make sure they weren’t required for the rest of the day, only to be informed that neither of them was required until Boxing Day. 

He wasn’t going to argue, and headed back to bed with two cups of tea. James stirred as he climbed back in, and smiled sleepily as he spotted the tea, taking it from him gratefully.

“Innocent told us not to come back til Boxing Day,” Lewis informed him, and then, encouraged by his pleased expression, “I don’t suppose you’d want to spend Christmas here, would you?”

“But I haven’t got anything to wear,” James replied, with an almost straight face.

Lewis snorted. “Somehow, I think we’ll cope.” He took a sip of his tea and added. “I’m going up to our Lyn’s for New Year, as long as there are no crime sprees beforehand. If you wanted… well, you’d be welcome to come as well.”

James smiled at him, small but happy and true. “If that’s alright with Lyn, I’d love to.”

“Good,” Lewis replied, feeling that jolting sensation in his heart again. “I’m glad.”

“For now though,” James said, placing his cup on the bedside table with a decisive little _clink_ , "I'm starting to feel a little chilly again."

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Santa for ComplicatedLight
> 
> Sorry this took so long to post up here, my internet has been down and I have been working 12 hour night shifts and therefore have been too tired to go to the library!


End file.
